Struggle of the Fatherland
by The-Goldstein-Sharpshooter
Summary: In a world where right is determined by those in power, the line between good and evil blurs. Ties are tested, tried and torn apart as one Nation struggles with his inner demon. A World War 2 fic. Friedship and family. M for violence. ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue: The thoughts in my head

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_First Hetalia fanfiction. Inspired by Doppelganger by Beyond The Forbidden, and another fanfiction that I unfortunately can't remember the name. Hetalia belongs to its owner, who is obviously not me. I do not, in any way, condone whatever crimes that occured during World War 2, nor do I intend to point fingers at any party. Hetalia is a fictional comic with humourous personifications of the countries, with no ill intent. My World War 2 history is practically nil, so please advise if I get my facts wrong, or if my portrayal of the characters are OOC. Any comments that are constructive are craved. I'm not really good at writing fanfiction, but I appreciate whatever criticisms you throw at me. I now present to all my readers...:_

**___Struggle of the Fatherland_**

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_A serious and efficient man who always abides by the rules, Germany has to deal with an unreasonable boss... - Hetalia Archives (Germany)_

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**Prologue: The thoughts in my head, the hate in my heart**

_November 21 1932_

So cold...so hungry...

He did his best to maintain his poise, back ramrod straight, eyes staring ahead.

But that did nothing to sooth the pain inside him.

Day by day, he has to live with his people in suffering. Feel their hurt, their betrayal, their hate and depression.

His country had hit an all time low. Unemployment was high, inflation was sky-rocketing, crime rates were going up, food was scarce...the list just kept going on and on.

It killed him in the inside to know that he was responsible for this disaster. It wasn't entirely his fault, but that didn't exclude him from the blame. His heart tightened as another child dropped dead in the city from lack of food. His throat was dry and raw as former friends fought each other for clean water in a dead city. His eyes were nearly sliding shut as a father worked the night through, trying to earn enough to keep his family alive.

How far the mighty has fallen. Once, he was great, a powerful Nation. He could bend bars with his bare hands, smash through walls, plow through whatever that was thrown at him. The earth trembled before his army as they marched, the heavens in awe of his military might. His people were happy, singing songs in the pub, children running and playing in the streets. But now, he was stripped down. Everything had been taken from him. His strength had been reduced to nothing. There were no more happy tunes, so more cheerful laughter. He can't remember a time when things were this bad. He would do anything, anything at all, to relieve them of their suffering and his.

Which was why, today, he would be meeting a man who had boldly proclaimed that he could do all that.

Dressed in his military attire, he stood to attention beside his leader, a man so burdened with responsibilities that he seemed to stoop from all the weight from his shoulders. The both of them had seen plenty, but he had of course seen more. That did not mean, though, that he did not feel the pain of the people. They had both worked hard, trying to solve their debts, trying to put food on the table. But nothing was working. The debts just kept increasing, no matter how much they paid off. Things were getting desperate.

His ice blue eyes narrowed, as he thought of all those who had done this to him. Humiliated him. Degraded him. Treated him like trash, like dirt. Especially that French frog. God, how he wanted to rip every strand of that man's hair, just to see that smirk wiped off his face. That young brat deserved equally as much a punishment. Who was he to tell him what to do? He was a Nation far older, far wiser, far stronger compared to that brat. Lecturing him on what was good and right, just and fair, when he was increasing the interest rates on the debts, tightening the noose around the neck of the people.

It had shocked him badly when no one had came to his aid, to his defence. True, he was guilty, but the sin was not all his. Yet they acted as if so. Everybody, all his old friends, had abandoned him. Nobody looked at him anymore, talked to him anymore. They avoided him like the plague. Even his best friend...if he could call him a friend anymore. Nobody wanted to be associated with him. The only one who stuck around was his brother. And even then, he too suffered from his ties with him.

It was sickening, how they could go around loudly proclaiming liberty, truth and justice when they themselves were nothing like that. Hyprocrites!

The door swung open and the man of the hour arrived. He eyed him carefully. He was not entirely one of his, that he could tell. But the confidence in his steps and the determination in his eyes was promising. It had been a long time since he had seen such hope in a man.

Introductions were made, of course, his true identity kept secret until this man proved himself. He and his leader sat down on chairs as the man began his presentation though. However, scarcely 5 minutes in, and he found himself drawn towards his voice, that smooth tone. The voice of authority.

He promised many things. To make his country great again. To bring smiles back to the faces of the people. To have meat and bread in every household, plenty for all to share. Vengeance for the gross injustice dealt towards them. At this his tone picked up, a feverish zeal that seemed to radiate from him. He could feel it affecting him as well, as his heart lightened and his blood started to rush. He leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes never leaving the man, his fists clenched tightly.

Outlining military strategies and policies, he pointed out weaknesses of the other countries, army rebuilding schemes, blueprints for war factories, training programs...all leading back to the return of what was rightfully his in the beginning. He swallowed. It sounded to good to be true, yet the data...

But then, it all came crashing down.

The man started talking about the Aryans, and that was when Ludwig snapped out of his spell.

Elimination of the Jews? Getting rid of the impure? Euthanize the disabled?

Ludwig stared, but not in awe this time. With disgust. The man didn't seem to notice, so wrapped up with his ideals and thoughts that he missed the glare that the Nation was giving him.

Everyone who called Germany home were his people. There was no discrimination between them. Sure enough, people were no happy that the Jews were richer than others, but that is to be expected, seeing as majority of them were in the banking profession. He would've felt it if they were going against him. Weren't there Jews in the army as well? Jews who gave their lives for him, fought for him, died for him. Rage started to cloud his thoughts, and he was finding it difficult to pay attention.

Eventually though, the meeting ended, and that man walked over and shook hands with his leader. He extended his hand towards Ludwig, and for a moment he was tempted to spit into it. But courtesy dictates otherwise. He stiffly gripped the man's hand before letting do, careful to not let the thoughts in his head show on his face on what exactly he thought of this man.

After the man left, Ludwig turned to his leader.

"He is a lunatic."

His leader sighed and rubbed his temples.

"True. But you must admit that his policies were good, Fatherland."

Ludwig nearly slammed his hand on the table.

"He was speaking of killing our kind!" He hissed. "Like they were rats, vermin! I will not accept such a man as my leader!"

His leader turned to him, a sad expression on his face.

"Fatherland...you know how bad things are. If we were to follow his ideas, but tone it down...there is no denying that it would do both you and the people a great amount of good."

Ludwig growled, but couldn't finish his retort as yet again, someone dies, starving and famished. He bites his lip and looks down.

His leader walks by him, stopping to give him a salute. Just as he was about to walk away though, he hesistantly gives the Nation a pat on the back.

"Sometimes, sacrifices must be made, in order for others to survive." He mumbled. "I will take measures to ensure that they will be minimal..."

Ludwig stoically keeps his eyes on the ground, before replying. "My Thanks."

His leader nods and leaves the room.

Ludwig collapses on the chair, his hand on his heart. His people were crying, and suffering, and dying...if things carried on, even he...

A tiny voice said, at the back of his head,

"You know what he says is true. The date doesn't lie."

Ludwig shook his head fiercely. He leaves the room, leaves the building. But he cannot leave the bad thoughts behind.

"It all makes sense doesn't it? It's all their fault. You know what to do..."

He slapped himself, determined not to sink so low. He will not turn into a tyrant! But a tiny seed of doubt and hatred had already started to take root deep within his heart.

So cold...so hungry...


	2. Chapter 1: Captain Beilschmidt

_Yep, a rewrite. This is actually my second rewrite, because the first one became so long and convoluted that I scratched it and started again. Hetalia does not belong to me. Whyntir's Character Dissections: Hetalia series does not belong to me, they belong to Whynthir. Special thanks to Whynthir for his character dissections, which I incorporated into this chapter, make sure you read the original, it's somewhere on !_

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_None of the other countries have such emotional ties to actual people than Prussia does – Whynthir, Whyntir's Character Dissections: Hetalia series (Gilbert Beilschmidt)_

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**Chapter 1: Captain Beilschmidt**

_April 10 1935_

Before he left the room, Gilbert Beilschimdt did a quick rundown of himself in the mirror. "Let's see...Awesome silver hair? Check. Awesome crimson eyes? Check. Awesome smile?" He flashed his trademark smirk. "Check. Alright!" Giving his mirror self a salute, he walked out to the corridor and met up with his companions for the tonight. Klemen Koestenburg was a 20 year old blue eyed blonde soldier, who although was born in Austria, had migrated with his family to Germany at the age of two. Randolf Neckermann was Belgium born, but like his brother-in-arms, had moved to the Fatherland as a child, and was now proud to call himself a German. At 19 years of age, he was the youngest of the group, with brown eyes and hair. The two men were already discussing the plans for the night when he reached them. "Alright troops, your awesome Captain graces you with his amazing presence! Are you ready to party?"

The two men rolled their eye simultaneously. "With all due respect sir..." Klemen started. "We're off duty tonight. Which means that for once..." "...you're just as lowly as the rest of us "unawesome" guys Beilschmidt," finished Randolf with a grin. Gilbert gasped with mock anger. "A rebellion against the Awesome me? How lame! You two deserve the most unawesome punishment for daring to speak to those greater than you!" The two men knew the routine well, and immediately dropped to the ground, faking the tears and pleas for clemency. "Oh no, sir, please, mercy!" begged Klemen. "I have family in Berlin sir!" Randolf sobbed. "What will my sweet wife and ten children do without me?"

Still playing the role of a displeased Captain, Gilbert feigned a stern face and spoke seriously. "Enough! Now, not only are you two guilty of mutiny, but you have broken another important rule of the army!" Pacing in front of the two men, who were still pretending to be distraught, he whirled and barked "You did not address me with my proper title, Super Amazing One Of A Kind Captain Beilschmidt, The Most Awesome of all!"

Both men wailed and clung to each other. "We're...we're sorry! We won't do it again, forgive us Super Amazing One Of A King Captain Beilschmidt, The Most Awesome of all!" They cried out. As this comical scene was being played out, passer-bys threw curious glances at the trio's antics, while some chuckled. "Trust Captain Beilschmidt to do something as ridiculous as this with his two partners in crime," one man whispered to his companion as they walked by, a smile on his face. His friend laughed in response, "Captain Beilschmidt is really ridiculous sometimes, it's hard to believe that he's related to General Beilschmidt. They're as different as day and night."

Gilbert was in pain as he tried to force down the laughter bubbling in his throat. Maintaining his appearance as a cold-hearted leader, he shook his head. "Nein! Soldiers must always follow the will of their awesome superiors! I cannot forgive such unawesome misbehaviour! Which is why I shall discipline you two..." He loomed over the two men. Klemen was calling out to God to save him, while Randolf was pretending to faint. In a grave voice, Gilbert boomed, "Your punishment...is to retrain Feliciano Vargas for one week!"

There was no need for both men to act anymore. They stared horrified at Gilbert. "Captain, that is too cruel a punishment," Klemen swallowed nervously. "J-Ja," agreed Randolf quickly. "S-sir...I mean, Super Amazing One Of A King Captain Beilschmidt, The Most Awesome of All, you didn't mean it right? You're just messing with us, isn't that right, Klemen?" Klemen nodded at his friend, panicked.

Gilbert burst out with laughter. "Kesesesese! Mein Gott, of course I didn't mean it, you idiots. That would've been such an unawesome thing to do!" Grinning, he motioned for them to stand. "Up and at it now, we've got a long night full of epicness ahead of us."

Klemen and Randolf got up, though neither of them were still completely happy. "Beilschmidt, that was cruel and unusual, even if it was just a joke," grumbled the blonde. "Vargas is such an idiot. How the hell did he ever get such a high position in the Italian army is a mystery to me." He started ticking off his fingers, counting the number of mishaps. "He's messed up every single training session, nearly shot and killed me twice during his target practise sessions, destroyed the storage room when he threw the PIN instead of the grenade, and in the process decimated one month's supply of wurst. We had nothing to eat but pasta for a whole month. I've never hated it so much in my life!"

His captain chuckled quietly as the trio exited the building and headed towards tonight's destination. "I gotta admit, Little Feli is sometimes really dumb. But that's why his boss sent him here, right? So that he can learn from the awesome nation of Germany?"

"But did he actually learn anything!" Randolf asked, the irritation clear on his face. "For the three years that he was here, he's done nothing except scream for the general, wave his white flag, and cook pasta. I don't even know if he can cook anything else."

Klemen snorted. "If you ask me, those Italian cowards are really nothing but trouble. I'm really glad he's gone home."

Gilbert shrugged as they turned a corner. "I don't know, really. I actually miss the little guy..." He raised an eyebrow at the horrified expression on his friend's faces as they stared at him. "What? Fine, I admit that the wurst thing was probably the most unawesome mistake he's done. And his shooting is off target a lot. And maybe he's never actually finished a single training session..." He sighed. He really wasn't helping Feli's case, was he? "Fine, he's a lousy soldier." He admitted then quickly added "But he's got an awesome heart! If there's a man in the world who loves everyone, it'd be little Feli. And although he's not brave and has the IQ of a three-year-old, I know that he'd never leave his friends on the battlefield. And that makes him awesome in my eyes!"

Randolf looked sceptical. "What makes you so sure, Beilschmidt? I think Vargas is more likely to cling to his mama's skirts than stick around like a man to help his comrades."

"Are you doubting my awesome opinion, Neckermann?" Gilbert immediately switched back to 'serious captain' mode. "Perhaps a week in Italy is not enough...should I extend your sentence to a month instead? Kesesesese..."Both men immediately cowered as the dark aura exuded from Gilbert as his eyes gleamed evilly. "No, Super Amazing One Of A King Captain Beilshmidt, The Most Awesome of all, we daren't presume such impudence!" They squeaked. Gilbert smirked. "That's my men!"

A yell from down the road alerted Gilbert, Klemen and Randolf. Looking up sharply, they saw a tall and brawny man beating a small boy on the pavement with a stick. Someone screamed, while others fled from the scene.

Immediately Gilbert ran down, followed by his friends. He grabbed the attacker and pulled him off the small child. Keeping him in a strong headlock, he dragged him a few steps back as the man struggled and started bellowing in rage. "What the fuck are you doing! Let go of me, albino!" He roared. It was Ackerman, the shop keeper of the local grocery store.

Gilbert just met his furious glare with a cool one of his own. "I'd gladly do that, you're so disgusting my awesomeness is rapidly decreasing just by being around you." Meanwhile, Klemen was helping the sobbing boy up, while Randolf was keeping the crowd at bay. Gilbert's crimson eyes narrowed as Ackerman continued screaming obscenities. "You know, I don't like people who beat up children. I think they're worse than scum. What do you think, hm?" He tightened his hold on the man, squeezing a startled choke out of him. Gilbert gave him a few minutes to recover, before slamming him against the wall with an iron grip. "So, care to explain why you were picking on him, bastard? Before I send you to jail for disrupting public peace?" His voice, usually light and cocky, was now quiet and dangerous.

Suddenly, Klemen let go of the boy. He stood up abruptly and just left the kid there, crying in the middle of the road. Gilbert gave him a sidelong glance, his eyes piercing his friend. "What are you doing, Koestenburg? The boy needs help." The registered use of his surname didn't faze Klemen at all as he calmly replied to his superior's question.

"He's a Jew."

Immediately, the crowd reverted back to normal. The citizens continued on their way, chatting as if nothing had happened. Everyone walked around the boy, avoiding him like the plague. The golden star on his armband was now clearly visible. Randolf looked around, unsure of what to do. He turned back to Gilbert. "Sir?" His voice was trembling a bit as he looked from his captain, to the Jew, and back to his captain again.

Gilbert calmly ignored him. Slowly, he released his grip. Ackerman fell down to the ground, and lay there for a few minutes, trying to recollect his breath. He glared back at Gilbert and spat, "That Jewish filth...was stealing my produce! I was...merely showing him his place." He jabbed a finger at the child on the road. "It should be that rat who should be sent to jail! He is nothing more than a thief. I insist that you apologise for your actions, officer, and arrest that little piece of shit!"

The albino's face was unreadable. His eyes flicked from the angry face of the store keeper to the boy who was weeping quietly. Klemen cleared his throat. "Captain Beilschmidt, in lieu of current circumstances, I'd advice you to do as he says." He whispered softly. "The Jew is clearly in the wrong, and while Herr Ackerman may have over-reacted, his actions were justified."

"Justified, huh?" Gilbert thought bitterly to himself. "Bastard."

He steeled himself and said forcedly, "My apologies, Herr Ackerman. I didn't notice the armband. Perhaps next time it would be better for us all if you would just take any such criminals to the police station? We could avoid any further confrontations like this one." Inside, he was seething, but there was nothing he could do about it. The law was the law, and while he was never a stickler for rules, this one was too big a law to break.

The man just harrumphed and picked himself up. Apparently, he hadn't noticed the forced tone that Gilbert had used. "I admit that I was a bit hasty in punishing him." He grudgingly admitted. "While he does deserve this, I know I should not take justice into my own hands. I lost my temper, and I sincerely apologise for accidentally causing such a ruckus on the street, Herr Beilschmidt. Next time I will make sure to drag the rats to the police station. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a store to run."

Ackerman brushed his sleeve as he moved towards the Jews. He spat on the boy, before going back to his shop.

Klemen roughly grabbed the boy by the arm. "Come on, brat. I think it's time for a trip to the police station, hm?" The boy shook his head roughly as his brown eyes widened in horror. "Nein! Please! I won't do it again, I promise!" he cried out, his weak voice trembling with fear. "I was just so hungry, and mein mutti is sick, very sick. Please sir, I promise I'll be good!"

Randolf laid his hand gently on Klemen's arm and looked his friend in the eyes. "Klemen, there's no need to be so harsh with him." He said softly. "He's just a kid, he looks no older than Markus." Klemen stiffened when Randolf mentioned his younger brother's name. "Don't even try and compare Markus to this piece of trash," he replied coldly. "It's an insult." He yanked the boy up to his feet roughly. "Hurry up, stupid bastard!" He snapped. Before Randolf could say another word, Klemen glared at him. "Randolf, shut up and give me a hand. You know what happens to Jews who disturb the peace." The younger soldier just shut his mouth, but the uncertainty was still in his eyes.

"Do as he says, Neckermann."

Randolf spun and stared at his captain. Captain Beilschmidt had crossed his arms, his mouth a tense straight line. "He broke the rules, he has to pay for it." Gilbert walked over and extended his hand towards Klemen. "On second thought, I'll take him to the police station myself. To think that I was worried over something so...unawesome...it's pretty sick. I feel worse than the day I ate those British scones by accident." He shook his head in disgust. "I gotta make up for it and restore my awesomeness." Klemen nodded and shoved the boy to his superior. "Yes, Captain Beilschmidt!"

Gilbert kept a firm grip on the kid's arm. He felt the weak muscles and the brittle bone, but said nothing of it. "I'll see you two at the pub as soon as I'm done. Hopefully this won't take too long. Don't start without your awesome captain, alright?" Klemen saluted him, while Randolf did the same, albeit lacking his usual enthusiasm. His eyes were following the small Jewish child as Gilbert dragged him down the road.

As he walked away, Gilbert heard Klemen snap at Randolf.

"Sometimes I forget how young and stupid you are Randolf. That boy is a Jew! Don't you remember how we suffered when we were young, because they betrayed us!"

"I know, I know! It's just that...he's just a kid, Klemen."

"And that's why we need to teach'em a lesson when they're still young, so that they don't repeat what their parents did. It's harsh, but if it'll help Germany, then it's needed."

"Alright...I'm sorry Klemen,"

"It's ok, let's go get some beer. I'm not going to wait for the captain! I've been dying for a drink since forever! He'll just grab the best ones first."

Gilbert looked down on the child that was trying his best to keep up with him. The boy's eyes were downcast, and save for a few sniffs and hiccups, he was trying his best to keep quiet. His other hand, covered in cuts, was rubbing at his eyes, while the one that Gilbert was holding was limp. The albino glanced around him quickly, before side-stepping into an alley. He took a few turns through the backways, until finally they were alone together. The Jew looked up confused, but still did not say a word.

Rummaging through his pockets, Gilbert found a few notes and offered it to him. "Take it," he muttered gruffly. The boy looked up in surprise, and his fingers inched towards the coins, before yanking it back. "I...will I get in trouble?" he whispered. His eyes are round with longing, but Gilbert can see the terror that was consuming his entire being, that this was all just a trick. He refrained from rolling his eyes and pressed the money in the boy's hand. "You will if you don't scram now." He looked at the boy pointedly. "I'm going to go and tie my shoelaces now, because it would not be awesome if I tripped and fell." He bent down and kept his gaze fixed on the pieces of string, his fingers purposely jumbling up the laces. For a few seconds, there's silence, and then it's broken with a whisper.

"Danke."

He heard the patter of tiny feet, and when he finally looks up, he's by himself. He smirked to himself. "That was the longest time it took me to tie my shoelaces. Lame."

Retracing his steps, he walks back out onto the main street, whistling. He passes the store and gives it the one finger salute. Eventually, he reaches the bar and pushes open the door. The heat inside warms up his body, and he scans the area, looking for his companions. Finally, he spots them, and can't help but chuckle. Klemen had been trying to hit on the miss who wiped the tables, but it looked like he had been hit on the head with a giant mug instead. He was now sitting on the chair sulking while Randolf roared away with laughter.

Prussia's about to laugh as he watches Klemen strangling Randolf, when the events that had just transpired flashed by his eyes. The laughter dies in his throat.

_"Sometimes I forget how young and stupid you are Randolf. That boy is a Jew! Don't you remember how we suffered when we were young, because they betrayed us!"_

_"Don't even try and compare Markus to this piece of trash. It's an insult."_

_"The Jew is clearly in the wrong, and while Herr Ackerman may have over-reacted, his actions were justified."_

_"He's a Jew."_

Slowly, his fingers reach up and touch the Iron Cross on his collar. "He's a Jew, huh?" He murmured to himself. He looks back to the two men and wonders how the clever, brave and kind Klemen could turn into the man he saw just now. He shivers, and it's not from the cold.

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_The two OCs, Klemen Koestenburg and Randolf Neckermann, are named from my two friends who are living with me in college. The both of them are really from Austria and Belgium, respectively, although they haven't lived there in ages. They're not important in this fic, although their interactions with Prussia may affect him in the future._

_And yes, I fudged history up a bit. The Yellow Star was only used to identify Jews after the start of World War 2. I love artistic license. =)_


	3. Chapter 2: Letters

_Yep, major flashback here! I'm sorry that we haven't actually gotten to the war yet, right now we're around 1935. Don't worry though, it'll pick up in the next chapter. Prepare for some sprinkles of different languages in this chapter, and Lovino's potty mouth. _

_Hetalia doesn't belong to me, or I'd have made sure Prussia gets more screen time. =( Neither do I own the Hetalia Scanlations, God bless the person who created that site._

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_A useless young man of a southern country who loves girls, delicious food and the sun – Character Notes, Hetalia Scanlations (Italy)_

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**Chapter 2: Letters**

_23 May 1935_

It was another beautiful sunny day with clear blue skies. Lying on the green soft grass, Feliciano stretched his arms and yawned out loud. As if in reply, a bird chirped from a nearby tree. A big smile formed on the Nation's face as he closed his eyes to doze in the warmth of the sun.

"Ve, It's such a nice day...I wish Ludwig and Kiku could enjoy this as well, but it can't be helped, I guess..." he added wistfully. "Ve, I wonder how they're doing now? I really miss them a lot."

It had been a few months since he saw any of them. It was really strange, the day he last saw them...

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"ITALIEN! GET BACK HERE!"

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH! I'M SOOORRRRRYYYY!"

"Minna-san, please calm down! It's not good for your stress levels!"

Ludwig growled as Feliciano dashed away. "Damn that man, why does he only run fast when he's running away!" He picked up his pace, intent on strangling the Italian. "No, what I should be wondering is how that idiot managed to hit everything BUT the target!" All around the practise area craters pockmarked the ground, a result of North Italy getting a bit too trigger happy while learning how to use tanks for the first time. A small fire was burning in the trees while the other German soldiers were hiding and shivering in trenches, too terrified to so much as pop a head out. Yet in the middle of all the chaos was a single straw dummy with exaggerated eyebrows and a big target sign painted on it. A plate on its head read 'England'. "How am I going to explain this to Mein Fuhrer later! This would be the 57th time that the practise area has been decimated! Not to mention that he's scarred the new recruits again. I can't keep paying for Österreich to deal with the psychological trauma!" Ludwig scowled and ran after Feliciano, yelling at him to stop and take his punishment like a man.

Kiku watched nervously as his two comrades raced around the place. "Shimatta, I have to stop them before they develop high blood pressure! Really, these Western countries need to take better care of themselves!" (It did not occur to Kiku at that moment that eating salted salmon also causes high blood pressure as well.)Fretful, he waved his arms in the air and shouted "Doitsu-san, Italia-san, please cease this at once! You could get sick if you carry on like-"

A sudden slap on the back interrupted him. Startled, Kiku nearly toppled over as the newcomer greeted him.

"Kesesesese! What's today's story then, Japan?"

He winced and turned to see Puroisen standing there, his arms on his hips and a wide grin on his face. Kiku rubbed the spot on his back and felt his nervousness hit a new high. "Ah, Pu-Puroisen-san! Please, don't hit me like that!" stammered the Asian nation. " In my country, hitting others like that is only reserved for close friends, and while I certainly enjoy your companionship to a certain degree, we have only known each other for six months, and-"

A single finger to his lips stopped the words that were tumbling out of his mouth. Puroisen smirked. "Ah, don't need to be so stiff. You need to learn to lighten up a little you know, or you'll end up grumpy just like my unawesome younger bruder." Kiku was horrified at the amount of physical contact he just had with the white-haired older sibling of his friend Doitsu. To be honest, Puroisen scared him a lot, with his loud voice and his scandalous behaviour, especially around females. Kiku always felt uncomfortable around him. He blushed with shame and averted his eyes to the ground. "P-Please understand that Western culture is very new to me!" he stuttered. "I have been trying my best to understand the way of life here, but there is much yet to be learnt, so, so I-"

"It's alright Japan! Take it easy, will you?" Puroisen cut him off. "You're acting worse than West was when he was on his first date! It's alright, you're new here after all, so I understand that things can get difficult, seeing as everything's so different from your home. You don't have to apologise."

Japan breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness." He thought. "That was surprisingly thoughtful of Puroisen-san. Maybe Puroisen-san isn't such a bad person after all..."

"I'm not going to bite your head off just because you're in awe of the Awesome me!"

Japan looked up confused. "Are?"

"I know being in the presence of greatness is really tough sometimes." Puroisen continued, unaware of Japan's bewilderment. "After all, I doubt that you've ever met anyone as great or incredible before. And sometimes even I'm shocked at how awesome I can be sometimes. But don't worry too much about it. In time, you'll get used to how cool I am, and maybe one day you'll be nearly as awesome as the Awesome Prussia! Kesesesese!"

As Puroisen cackled away, Kiku bent his head down, his hopes crushed. "Iie, I was mistaken..."

Feliciano dodged Ludwig's hand as the taller Nation made a grab for him. "Ludwig, please don't be angry!" He begged. "I'm sorry about the tank! I didn't mean to get so excited over it, I promise I won't do it again, so please stop chasing me-AAAAHHH!" North Italy screamed as he tripped over a rock and fell down on the ground. He just lay there until Ludwig finally caught up to him, red-faced and breathless. Stalking over, he grabbed Feliciano by the back of his collar. "Seeing as you like running so much, how about 200 laps around the field, hm?" He snapped as he lifted the limp Nation up.

A drop of blood hit the ground.

Ludwig's face paled immediately at the gash on Feliciano's head, the result of his tumble. "Hey, Italien! Wake up!" The anger in his voice was replaced with concern as he shook the smaller man gently, but he got no response. North Italy was clearly out for the count. Immediately, he carried the man with both arms and yelled at the two other Nations in the area. "Bruder, get the troops out of here. Japan, go and get the emergency kit now!" Prussia saluted his younger brother, his cocky demeanour gone. As he directed the recruits out of the area, Kiku had quickly taken out the first aid kit. Ludwig lay Feliciano on the ground.

"Japan, I'm going to give you an impromptu lesson in first aid. Pay attention." Ludwig's voice was steady and calm as he took out the bandages. "Hai." Kiku nodded, anxiety showing on his face as he worried for the state of his ally.

Twenty minutes later, and Ludwig breathed out a sigh of relief before directing his attention back to Kiku. "The wound was not a serious one, and thus the basic first aid kit should provide you with all you need to treat such an injury." He told the Japanese, as Kiku scribbled down notes furiously on his notepad. "However, like all wounds, it is essential that the bleeding is stopped before any other action is done. Once the blood flow is staunched, further steps may be taken."

"Yes Doitsu-san. I understand." Kiku added that as an extra note. Ludwig couldn't help but feel relieved and proud at the sight of Kiku studying so diligently. At least was learning something from his lessons. "Hey Japan, let me see what you wrote. I can check it for you, just in case there were any mistakes." He offered. His friend replied "Alright, Doitsu-san. Here you go. I hope I got everything down correctly." Kiku handed over the notebook. Ludwig flipped it open, and his jaw dropped. "This...This is..."

Kiku looked at him worriedly. "What's wrong, Doitsu-san, did I do something wrong?" He inquired. Ludwig swiftly shook his head. "Nein, nothing's wrong Japan! It's just that...why are your notes so... comical looking?"

The whole notebook was covered with panels and panels of manga drawing versions of Ludwig's teachings, all from day one till just now's first aid lesson.

Kiku smiled and explained. "Oh, I was actually thinking of publishing your teachings back home, Doitsu-san. I'm drawing it this way so that it'll look more interesting to the younger citizens. I have a feeling that this might actually start a new movement among my people."

"I...see..." Secretly, Ludwig wasn't happy that his comic self looked so...short...and cute...but if it helped Japan and his countrymen, then he wouldn't complain.

At that moment, Gilbert came back with a concerned expression on his faced. "How's Little Italia?" He asked, peering at the unconscious Italian. "Not too bad, I hope? It would be unawesome if his exploding tomato bruder found out that we gave Little Italia brain damage. Not that it would make a difference, in my awesome opinion."

Ludwig's hand immediately flew to his temples at the thought of the older Vargas spewing blood and fire at him. "Thankfully no..." he muttered. "But he needs a softer place to lie down in. Let's take him inside." He picked up Feliciano and all three of them headed back to the infirmary.

* * *

"V-Ve?"

Feliciano opened his eyes slowly only to immediately shut them again. The light was too bright for him at the moment. His head was throbbing, while the growl in his stomach did not go unnoticed either. "Oww...my head hurts...and I'm hungry too...ve, I hope Ludwig has some pasta around..." he thought to himself.

"Are...are you awake, Fratellino?"

Feliciano turned his head at the general direction of the voice. "Ve, fra...Fratellone? Is that you...?" he asked quietly.

"Who else, you idiot!" Even with his eyes shut, Feliciano could hear the sound of his brother moving closer to him. "I'm so going to kill that potato bastard! Letting you get hurt...it's unforgivable, damn it!" There was no mistaking the hatred within that tone. Only Lovino Vargas would ever have such undiluted dislike for Feliciano's best friend.

The younger Vargas replied weakly "Ve, please Fratellone...don't be angry at Ludwig. It wasn't his fault at all. I messed up again at the training session and I got scared so I ran, but then I fell and hit my head."

"It...it doesn't matter! That wurst idiot shouldn't have chased you around!"

By now, Feliciano felt slightly better. His headache was starting to clear, and he could detect a delicious smell that seemed to be getting closer and closer. Encouraged, his eyes opened a smidge, and though blurry, he could just make out the outline of his older brother sitting in a chair next to him. He was back in his house in Italy, apparently.

Lovino scowled. "Anyway, you need to get your strength back, Fratellino. It's been two days since you've been knocked out. Here." He thrust a bowl at Feliciano. Feliciano's eyes immediately snapped open at the aroma.

"PASTA!"

He shot up and grabbed the bowl. Twirling the pasta with the fork, he started eating, grateful for the chance to sate his hunger. "Ve, grazie, Fratellone!" He chirped. His older brother blushed. "What, whatever! Just eat already, alright!" His legs and arms were crossed as he waited for Feliciano to finish. North Italy was so busy eating that he did not notice the odd look on his brother's face.

When he was done, he let out a big sigh. "Ve, that was delicious, Fratellone! Thank you so much! I haven't had your pasta with tomatoes in it for so long! It always warms me up." Lovino just nodded briefly, his gaze locked somewhere else. An awkward pause passed between the two brothers, not that Feliciano noticed anything as he just leaned back on the bed, happy and satisfied.

Lovino broke the silence. "Hey, Fratellino."

"Hm? What's wrong, Fratellone? You look sad..." Feliciano reached forward and touched his brother's forehead. "Ve, are you sick?"

Lovino smacked his hand away. "No, you idiot, of course not!" He snapped back irritable. "But...there's something I have to tell you." Feliciano tilted his head curiously. "Ve, what is it Fratellone? You can tell me, I promise that I won't tell anyone. Is it about Antonio?" Feliciano's question was rewarded with a knock on the head from his older brother. "Just shut up and let me tell you, idiot! Damn it, why must you be so stupid some times, huh?"

His brother looked directly into his eyes, his mouth trembling slightly, before he dropped the bombshell.

"You can't go back to La Germania anymore, Fratellino."

Feliciano stared in horror at his brother. "What? Why! Is it because I got Ludwig in trouble with his boss? I'm really sorry about it, I promise I won't do it again!" He cried, upset.

Lovino shook his head fervently. "No, Fratellino, no! It's not that..." He quickly denied, before looking away from his brother. "It's just that...our boss thinks that you should come home for a bit. And that macho potato's boss thinks the same as well." He muttered quietly. "Your other friend is also going back to his home as well, so it's definitely not something you did, alright?" Lovino reached over for his younger brother's hand. Grabbing it, he gave it a comforting squeeze. "We just feel that maybe it's time to restart your Nation duties again, that's all."

His brother's explanation did nothing to quell his tears. In fact, it was his brother's uncharacteristic behaviour that convinced Feliciano that something was horribly not right. "But why can't I visit him?" He asked, his voice near hysterical. "I swear that I'll work harder, Fratellone!"

Feliciano knew that he had reached the end of his brother's surprising patience. South Italy's expression immediately switched back to his trademark scowl and he dropped his brother's hand. "You just can't, alright?" He replied harshly. "Things have changed, and there's nothing you or I can do about it, so stop complaining, damn it!"

North Italy gazed at his brother entreatingly, the tears flowing down his face. "I...I don't understand..." When he spoke, his voice was trembling. "Fra-Fratellone, did I do something wrong? Is that why you are angry at me? Is that why I can't see Ludwig or Kiku anymore?"

Lovino facepalmed. "Maronna Mia!" he snarled. He suddenly grabbed his younger brother by the shoulders and forced him forward, till they were nearly touching. So caught up in his rage, he missed the distressed cry that his brother gave out. His angry dark eyes bore into his brother's frightened ones. "Listen, you idiot. I'm only going to say this one more fucking time" He hissed. "From now on, you are not allowed to set foot in Germany or Japan, or any other fucking country. You are going to stay in Venice, and help our boss out up there. This was not my fucking idea, I'm just telling you what our boss said, so stop looking at me like it's my damn fault, because it fucking isn't!" The last three words were yelled out loud. Feliciano whimpered in fear at his brother's outburst, but too scared to say anything else.

Lovino released him and dropped him back on the bed. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were still flashing with fury, but the anger on his face was quickly replaced by remorse when his younger brother backed away from him, grabbing the quilt to hide himself from his brother's temper.

"Fratellino..."

He felt like smacking himself on the forehead again. "Merda..."he muttered. "I've really messed this up, porca vacca!" This wasn't blur, happy go-lucky Antonio he was talking to. This was his younger brother who, while possibly more good natured than even the Spaniard, was also ten times more sensitive. A pang of guilt hit Lovino. How long has it been since he last spoke with his Fratellino, that he forgot such a crucial fact? It's true that both brothers had their own friends, or in his case, friend, and they had not spent a lot of time with each other lately. But still, that wasn't an excuse. If anything, it just symbolized for apart the two of them were.

For a while, neither brother said anything. The silence that filled the gap was stifling and horrible, with Feliciano weeping under his quilt, and Lovino cursing and swearing inwardly at his disastrous attempt to break the news. Eventually though, Lovino took a step forward. Gently, he grabbed the quilt and pulled it off slowly. He saw his brother's back shaking with sobs, and he felt like kicking himself.

"Veneziano...? Mi spiace," Lovino whispered sorrowfully. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. That was stupid of me."

The use of his special name, the name that Nonno Rome had given him, got Feliciano's attention. Only his twin knew this, and only he could use it. There were some things that were reserved just for family, after all. Feliciano turned around, his eyes were red from crying. He continued to sniff for a bit longer, while Lovino struggled to find the words to say that wouldn't hurt his younger brother even more. "I...I just want what's best for the two of us, that's all. We've always been pushed around by other people. I want us to get stronger, so we can stay together. And if our boss says he can do that...then..." He rubbed some of his brother's tears off with his right hand. "Anyway, the point is, don't cry Fratellino!" He said fiercely. "I don't want to see your tears, damn it! We're Italians, we're family! We stick together, and we help each other. If you're feeling sad, then I'll feel sad too. So you have to be happy. So that we can both be happy!" Lovino couldn't believe all the sappy crap coming out of his mouth, but what shocked him was the prickling in his eyes. Angrily, he rubbed them. "Porca vacca!" He cursed. Not in front of Feliciano!

A cool hand touched his and pulled his hand gently away. Lovino looked at Feliciano with surprise, as his younger brother gave him a watery smile. "Ve, I understand Romano. I'll smile for the both of us, so that you won't feel sad anymore. I don't like to see my Fratellone cry either."

Lovino blushed. Feliciano hadn't called him Romano in ages either. However, he remembered that he was supposed to be the tough twin. "I...I wasn't crying, damn it!" He muttered angrily. He stood up and stomped out of the room, his face all red like a tomato. Feliciano just laughed knowingly.

A split second later, he came back, and this time he was holding a pen and some paper in one hand. He shoved them into Feliciano's hands. "Here." He grumbled. "Just because you can't see them, doesn't mean you can't write letters. I'll send them for you, so yeah..." He looked down to the ground, still crimson.

"Grazie Fratellone!"

Feliciano threw himself on his brother, giving him a chocking hug. Lovino spluttered "Get...get off me, idiot!" He managed to pry his brother off him before rushing off, embarrassed. But the frown on his face was replaced with a weird grin that showed how pleased he was with himself. Feliciano immediately went to his desk and started writing...

* * *

...Feliciano stood up and stretched one more time. "Ve, it's time to get back to work! I won't let Fratellone down." He pumped his fist into the air. "If I do my job well, we'll get stronger, and then I can see Ludwig and Kiku again! Ve, I can't wait till the war is over! And then we'll cook pasta and rice balls and wurst and eat it together. Everyone will be happy!"

As he ran down the path, his thoughts turned to the next letter he was going to write.

* * *

_Time for translations!_

**_German_**_ (pretty self-explanatory, but I'll put them in anyway. I think I need more German in this...)_

_Mein Fuhrer : My Fuhrer, aka Hitler_

_Österreich: Austria_

_Italien: Italy_

_Nein: No_

_Bruder: Brother_

**_Japanese_**_ (based on my crappy Japanese knowledge from watching anime, so it's probably not a literal translation, but it gives off around the same feeling. This is also pretty much self-explanatory)_

_Minna-san: Everyone_

_Shimatta: Oh no_

_Doitsu-san: Mr. Germany_

_Italia-san: Mr. Italy_

_Puroisen-san: Mr. Prussia_

_Are?: Huh?_

_Iie: No_

_Hai: Yes_

**_Italian_**_:_

_Ve: According to my brother who studies Italian, Ve could actually be "Be" which is short form for va bene, which means "OK", "I agree", or "things are going well". And because there is no "B" sound in Japanese, they use "V" sounds instead. Which kinda suits the happy-go-lucky Feli, in my opinion._

_Fratellino: Younger brother_

_Fratellone: Older brother_

_Grazie: Thank you_

_La Germania: Germany. It's quite surprising that "La" is used with Germany, seeing as it used to be referred to as the Fatherland, while "La" is used when referring to women._

_Maronna Mia: The correct version is Madonna Mia, but apparantly Italians use Marrona instead, cause it flows smoother. Literally translates to My Virgin Mary, as in the Mother Mary. So the closest English equivalent is Oh My God._

_Merda: Shit_

_Porca vacca: Literally translates as pig cow, but is used to mean "damn it"_

_Mi spiace: I'm sorry_

_Yes, online dictionaries are your best friend, especially when writing Hetalia. I'm quite pleased with how the rewrite went as well, though I do hope I kept Lovino in character when he was apologizing. _

_I decided that only between the twins, and only when they seriously want to discuss something, will they call each other Veneziano and Romano._

_And yes, the Manga style that Japan drew was in chibi-form. XD _

_Note, I do not speak any of the languages that I posted the translations for, so I'm sorry if I accidentally butchered your language! If there are any complains, feel free to message me._


	4. Chapter 3: Ahen

_Hetalia belongs to its owner, who is obviously not me. I do not, in any way, condone whatever crimes that occured during World War 2, nor do I intend to point fingers at any party. Hetalia is a fictional comic with humourous personifications of the countries, with no ill intent. My World War 2 history is practically nil, so please advise if I get my facts wrong, or if my portrayal of the characters are OOC. Any comments that are constructive are craved. I'm not really good at writing fanfiction, but I appreciate whatever criticisms you throw at me. Introducing, the Ally Powers!_

In an old building centrally located in London, people bustled through the corridors, intent on getting to their next destination. Outside the rain poured, England's infamous weather making its presence known. It was just another ordinary day to the Londoners. However, today England was having a rather special guest in the house.

yī tiáo dà lù yōu tōng yā tōng wǒ jiā

A few people glanced around, confused, before carrying on with their everyday business. Time is money, after all.

wǒ jiā zhù zài yōu liáng yā liáng shān xià

The singing bounced off the cold walls, echoing through the building. Some people paused to listen, but even fewer lingered, curious as to what song was being sung, and in what language.

shān xià tǔ féi yōu dì yā dì wǔ mǔ a

As the singing got louder, the curious watchers glanced at the door from which it seemed to be originating from. Eventually, the door swung open, revealing a young man with absurdly long hair and Asian features, dressed in something that looked like a cross between a long-sleeved shirt and a dress, but the man was wearing pants underneath that ridiculous one piece outfit. A few hushed whispers and spiteful glares formed, but the younger man prepared not to care as he walked through the lobby area.

wǔ mǔ liáng tián yōu chóng diǎn shà

Yao sang aloud to himself as he climbed up the staircase. As he strolled down the corridor, he took out the letter he had received four months ago, just to check it once again.

"_To the personification of China, ._

_I am requesting your presence in London, exactly four months from this date, to discuss an issue of international importance. Please do not inform your leader(s) of this meeting, as it is of upmost importance that we discuss it first as Nations. I swear on the name of the King and Queen, on the Union Jack, by God himself, that there is no ill intent, and that this will be merely a friendly discussion regarding a potentially dangerous situation. If you do not wish to attend, simply burn this letter and forget about it. If you are coming, hang a red shirt outside your bedroom window tomorrow. _

_I hope that my trust is not misplaced, and that we can put aside our differences to confront this incoming threat. _

_Yours truly,_

_Arthur Kirkland,_

_The personification of the British Empire._

He wasn't too sure what those issues were about, and why the letter requested that he refrain from telling anyone, even his leader, about the gathering, but if those issues involved China, then go he would, in secret if he had to. The letter certainly sounded urgent enough. One, it had been written by England himself, and sealed with his own seal, instead of the seal of his government. That first got Yao's attention. "Mr England rarely did anything without his government and his king. Curious..." mused Yao. Two, England had actually written the letter in Mandarin! China would recognise that horrible calligraphy anywhere. England really wanted him there, enough to swallow his pride to use the mother tongue of a different country that he regarded lesser than him. Things just didn't add up, and Yao had to admit that he was really curious as to why England would go to such lengths just for him to be there.

And that was why he found himself in London, heading towards a meeting room in this big government building. According to the letter, there would be other Nations attending as well. Yao wasn't a close-in like Japan, and although his relationship was rocky with England, he would like to make friends with other Nations as well. "It would be interesting to see who's there. Maybe Mr. America, aru? Probably Mr. France as well. And I wonder whether Mr. England still has those silkworm eyebrows, ahen?" thought Yao. Taking a deep breath, he was about to burst into the next verse of the song when a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning interrupted him.

"Ai yah, that England and his rain, ahen!" Yao shook his head crossly. "Another thing I can't stand about that yang guizi, ahen!" He muttered to himself. Yao may be admittedly, more relaxed and willing to forgive than his younger brother to the East, but he tended to keep out of everyone's business, and it wasn't like he and England were drinking buddies in the first place. They had been at loggerheads for the past few decades. And Yao still had not forgiven him for the Opium War, or the subsequent destruction of the Qing dynasty, and the resulting continuous political wars that were rampaging up and down China. "All the fault of that bastard ahen!" Yao clenched his fist and he slowed down to a halt. Momentarily, he felt like avenging this dishonour. He wondered how it would feel like to wield his sword and strike the white devils down, like how Kuan Yu and Hou Yi destroyed their enemies. However, a second later, Yao shook his head. "Evil thoughts, too much Yin aru! Mr. England is offering peace, good intentions that should not be cast away aru!" Yao nodded his head in affirmation as he continued his way to the meeting room.

A few minutes and a couple of wrong turns later, Yao smiled as he finally came to the correct room. "Hao, aru! I will show Mr. England that my people are not barbarians by greeting him with a big smile, aru! Maybe it will be a chance for pardons and apologies, aru." Encouraged, he reached for the door knob and opened the door, a grin on his face.

"Ni hao, ever-"

His enthusiastic greeting was cut short as a chair was thrown in his direction. With lightning reflexes, Yao caught the chair just as it was an inch away from his head.

"Aiyah! What's going on!" exclaimed the confused Nation as he lowered the chair.

It was pure chaos. The table had been turned over, and most of the chairs lay scattered around the room, many of them broken in pieces. Papers were flying everywhere, and the blackboard had been smashed in half.

In the centre of the room, a young man with blonde hair and thick eyebrows was brandishing a chair, aiming for an older man dressed in outlandish clothes. The older man cried out, something that sounded to Yao's ears like, "Mon dieu!" before narrowly evading the blow. In the corner, another tall man stood just watching the brawl, a cheerful smile plastered on his face and his purple eyes twinkling. The attacker growled, his green eyes fierce and a scowl on his face.

"You bloody frog, stop hopping around and stay still!" Another swing of the chair was dodged as the flamboyant man flipped elegantly out of the way.

"Angleterre, be reasonable, I implore you!"

"I'll be reasonable all right, the moment I skin you alive!"

Another 5 minutes of random chasing around the room ensued, before Yao tried to intervene. Coughing, he tried to attract the other's attention.

"Er, pardon me..."

His attempt failed, miserably. Nobody seemed to even notice his presence as the fight continued around the board room. England had just succeeded in grabbing France's cloak, only for the silky fabric to slip through his hands. "Damn you, you French bastard!" "Angleterre, manners!" The older man teased. However, just a second later he tripped over a chair and fell backwards. "Aaaah!" He landed rather hard on the ground, and winced. The pain on his face was quickly replaced with fear as finally, England caught up to him, an evil smile on his face and the chair raised high over his head. France screamed, "Someone help me!" Russia merely giggled in the corner.

Yao could not stand by any longer, and ran forward, grabbing the chair with his right hand firmly. "Stop this childish behaviour at once ahen!" He shouted.

All three nations turned to him slowly. Yao was starting to get annoyed with the lack of action already. Taking a deep breath, he glared at England. "You call me here for a meeting, aru? Then let's have one. The day is wasting." He said firmly. Brown eyes met green ones, and for a moment, memories of drugs, cannons and guns flashed between them. For a second, Yao felt the desire to smash England's head in with the chair. It's what his people wanted, to make the foreign devils suffer, he'd be carrying out their wishes...

England looked away and yanked the chair away from Yao. "My apologies, China." He chucked the chair to the corner and turned to France, who had just been helped out by the giant Russia.

"France, Russia, let's officially start this meeting."

France, the older man, nodded and grimaced a bit at the pain. Russia just smiled and chirped, "Da, England!"

Two minutes later, the mess cleared up with the combined efforts of all the Nations, all four of them sat at the round table. Yao sighed inwardly. "Why Russia, aru?" Ever since the Sino-Soviet split in 1929, Russia had been sending Yao weird mail. And they always ended with "be one with Russia, da?" He made sure he sat next to France. France, on the other hand, clearly wasn't too happy to be sitting next to Russia, who gave him another of his disturbing "I-like-you-but-I-want-to-kill-you" smiles. France made sure to edge his seat away from Russia a tiny bit. All three sat facing England, who was on the other side of the table. England cleared his throat and announced, "I thank you all for making this journey here." Looking at each of the Nations, he continued, "I realised that it was a gamble for all of you to actually come here, without telling your leaders as well. Hopefully this is a sign that the meeting will go well, ignoring the unfortunate...start to it." England glared at France, who blew a kiss back at him. Ignoring his long-time rival, England continued "The reason why I requested that this meeting was to be in secret was because I don't want our leaders meddling in this. As Nations, we all have a connection with our people, and I strongly believe that we should act in their best interest, and not the political parties' Right here in this room, it's just us. Therefore, I encourage all of you to speak freely." He paused for a second, his light green eyes focusing on the three Nations opposite him. Yao tried not to squirm. The last time he saw that look was during the Boxer Rebellion, and he still had the scars to show what happened if you tangoed with the British Empire.

"I have called all of you here today is regarding Germany and the going-ons in that country. I have reason to believe that...yes, China?" Yao raised an eyebrow in confusion with his hand in the air. England nodded at his direction. "Mr. England, what and where is Germany, ahen?"

In response, England took out a sheet of paper and spread it out on the table. Yao saw that it was a map of the world. He felt delighted when he saw China at the East, big China. But his face fell when he saw the country slightly more to the east, neighbouring him. To his north was Manchuria and Mongolia, and then...Yao looked up to see Russia smiling broadly at him. He shuddered, before turning back to the map. England had pointed his finger at a country, a few oceans and many miles away from the Middle Kingdom. "That is Germany."

Yao looked up to England confused. "Germany is very far from my country, what does it have to do with me, ahen?" "And it is so small," China added silently in his heart. England sighed. "I'll get to that soon, just give me a minute to explain." England looked exhausted, Yao noticed. As Nations, they were sturdier than the average human beings, and could go for days without food, water and sleep, if necessary. But that didn't mean they couldn't feel hunger, thirst and fatigue. There were slight rings around the Empire's eyes, and his shoulders seemed to sag instead of the usual upright position he was always adapting.

Standing up, England started pacing the room. "I've just received troubling news about Germany. News regarding increased military drafting, weapon production, training...everything needed for them to wage war." Pausing, he threw a folder on the table. Attached were some photos proving what England had said, as well as a written report in each country's respective language. Yao looked at the army tank that was said to be developed in this "Germany" country. "It's so big, aru," he whispered to himself.

Around the table, Russia flipped through the report, his eyes scanning line by line, mouthing wordlessly each sentence. France rested his head on his hand. "Are you sure, mon cher? It seems very unlikely that Germany would have the finances to support this...this sort of program." His bored voice indicated his disbelief of the evidence. "I thought we imposed enough sanctions to send the Germans back to the dark ages."

England nodded, his face grim. "My informant inside is 100% sure. The Germans are definitely rallying their forces. And it is all the work of this one man." England throws another photo down. Yao stared at that face, trying to commit it to memory. France looked up sharply at England. "What was his name again? Adolf...something?" Russia smiled. "My boss has mentioned him a few times, da. Adolf Hitler."

Thunder rumbled outside as the rain intensified. France still seemed unperturbed; Russia just continued to grin childishly. Only China felt uneasy about this man. "There's something about him, aru...he seems worse than even Mr. England...no offence, Mr. England ahen," Yao added quickly. England shook his head. "China is right." He gestured towards the photo. "This man is the sole driving force in the entire country. Everyone loves him to death in Germany. My confidante has likened it to Hitler mania there-"

"And your point, Angleterre?"

England glared at France. "He's been encouraging the people to take up arms and go on another bloody war to avenge the "Injustice" against the Fatherland." England's voice was dripped with sarcasm when he mentioned that one word. "I think that number one on their vendetta list would be you, frog." France merely waved his hand in dismissal. "The Germans are no threat. We have destroyed them to the point that any attempt at force would be crushed like an ant underneath a boot." France smiled seductively at England. "In my opinion Angleterre, the real reason you had this meeting was to spend time with me-"

A well-aimed book slammed against the Frenchman's head, temporarily knocking him out. England coughed, before turning towards China.

"Why I called you here, China, is not because of Germany but more of who Germany is allying with. It's someone near you." China cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. "Who, ahen?" China ran through a list of possible Asian countries in his head, but he couldn't find one that would agree to ally themselves with foreigners. It was the pride of the Orient; they would never let themselves stoop to such a level. Or so China had thought, until England gave his answer.

"It's Japan."

China spluttered and stared. "Wha-wha-what! Ju...Ju Hua!" England nodded in affirmation. "It seems that Japan is making plans to ally with Germany. There haven't been any official documents yet, but..." England clasped his hands behind his back, his expression grave. "...I have a feeling that before this decade is over, we'll be seeing a Germany-Japan-Italian alliance. That kraut already has the idiotic Vargas brothers under his hold-"

"Feli and Romano!" France got up, startled. "Impossible, those brothers hate war more than anything else in the world!"

England shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be getting interrupted every 5 minutes, and it was getting very. Very. Annoying.

"Which is why I'm saying that we need to start taking these people seriously. They're starting to amass a big force, and it's soon going to be huge enough to rampage across not only Europe, but the rest of the World." He turned then to Russia. "I have information from my spies that Adolf Hitler has plans to invade you. It's on page ten of the report I gave you." Russia flipped towards the page, and as he read the document, the childish smile on his face seemed to slide off, before being replaced with yet another smile that seemed more forced and harsh than before. Russia put down the document and said, "You have done your research, Kirkland." His voice still had its immature tone, but now China could detect something behind it. A malice that blended in perfectly with the supposed innocence in Russia's voice. China managed to suppress a shudder, while France sneezed as the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

England proceeded to take out another document, and lay it down on the table. "Which is why I am proposing that in preparation to this threat, we will join forces to combat this unholy alliance."

Yao stared, his mouth agape. China! Working together with Western devils! The idea was preposterous! If anyone back home suggested such a thing, Yao would've definitely chopped him up for his lack of patriotism to his country.

Before Yao could let England know a piece of his mind, he was abruptly interrupted by a childish giggle, which slowly erupted into full-blown laughter. Russia threw his head back and laughed, a great, deep laugh. He could've been hearing the funniest joke in the world. For a few seconds, both China and France stared at Russia, startled. England stood absolutely still, his face neutral. Russia took a few deep breaths, before he could calm down. The giant wiped the tears off his face. "Ah, England, you can be funny, da?" His voice was soft and cheerful, but there was a tinge of warning in his tone that Yao did not like. France seemed equally as disturbed and moved his chair another few centimetres away from the dangerous Nation. Only England stood his ground, as green and purple clashed. China had to admire his courage. Or was it stupidity?

"Do I look like I'm cracking a joke?" England's voice came out icy. Coupled with the lack of expression on his face, the mask of youth that England wore started to crack. Yao knew that although England looked like a man in his early 20s, the Nation was actually one of the oldest in the world. France winced, and leaned over to tap Yao on the elbow. "Watch out, Angleterre is tres fache ," whispered the Frenchman. "I'd advise we take cover, and soon."China gulped and nodded his agreement. This wasn't a time to let racial prejudices get in the way. Both Russia and England stood face-to-face, England glaring, Russia smiling creepily. The other two Nations held their breaths collectively as time ticked. The tension built up, just waiting to explode and engulf all four of them.

The sudden chiming of the clock signalled four o clock. China and France jumped at the sudden ring of the bell while both Russia and England glanced at the clock, before Russia spoke cheerfully.

"I think this meeting is over. I'll be leaving first, da?"

Russia turned and left the room, without so much a good bye to any of the other Nations, the smile still stuck to his face. France sighed and slunk out next, whispering his apologies to England, who hadn't moved from the spot where he had the stand-off with Russia. Yao did not like the expressionless look on England's face. It made him seem older, and more terrible.

But angry or no, Yao had to decline. He'd rather face the wrath of the British kingdom than soil his honour. England had already proven how "sincere" his intentions were during the Opium War. Once bitten, twice shy. Yao just couldn't trust him, and this eerie display just proved that England, behind his appearance of a young, polite gentleman, could possibly be as horrifying as Russia. Stiffly, Yao bowed slightly to England, and left himself, leaving the older Nation alone in the room, the alliance agreement left unsigned.

As Yao started climbing down the stairs, he couldn't help but shiver. The look England had shot him before he left, before everyone else left...it chilled him to the bone. "Wu Shuang, ahen," whispered Yao. It was also strange that America hadn't been there. Yao started to wonder why, but stopped himself. It wasn't his business anymore. If Ju hua wanted a fight, Yao would face him on his own.

The rain was starting to slow down as he found the exit and started to head home. Yet again, a strange song could be heard in London town, in a language far from its home country.

_yī tiáo dà lù yōu tōng yā tōng wǒ jiā_  
_wǒ jiā zhù zài yōu liáng yā liáng shān xià_  
_shān xià tǔ féi yōu dì yā dì wǔ mǔ a_  
_wǔ mǔ liáng tián yōu yóu cài huā_

* * *

_Longest chapter yet. Sorry it took so long to get up, but I was trying to get the place right. I still don't think I've got the characters written well. Sobs._

_The song Wang Yao is singing is You Cai flower, from Little Big Soldier, staring Jacky Chan and Wang Li Hom. Chinese words Wang Yao uses:_

_yang guizi = Foreign devil. It's a Manderin slur against white people._

_ Kuan Yu = A hero from the 3 kingdoms period in China_

_ Hou Yi = A guy who shot down the suns in the sky who were being jerks and decided to come out at the same time instead of taking turns, resulting in people dying from the heat. He left one though, which is the sun we have today._

_Hao = Good_

_ Ni Hao = Translates literally as You good, but is used as a greeting in Manderin, similar to Hello_

_ Ju Hua = Crysanthemum. Kiku is means crysanthemum in Japanese._

_ Wu Shuang = Unparalled._

_French words Francis uses:_

_Angleterre = England_

_Tres fache = very angry_

_Yes, I used Babelfish Translator. *hides in shame* _


End file.
